All Roads Lead to Fitz
by You.Talk.Of.My.Drinking
Summary: This story will be several instances in the show that stood out to me. It will be from various points of view, and will skip around from present to the campaign trail. Ratings will be T to M. Chapter One is written in Olivia's voice while Fitz, Mellie, and Olivia are in the bunker, talking political strategies. Thank you for reading! FitzxOlivia Pairing


**Disclaimer: I do not own Scandal**

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**I Love You**

There's something that breaks inside of me every time he says it. Maybe I break because he's married, maybe because I'm his mistress, maybe because I ache for the words to come out of his mouth. I long to hear the whispered caress. It somehow manages to warm my stomach as my spine tingles, and at the same time send ice water through my veins, because he shouldn't be saying them to me. He should be saying them to a put together woman with tailored suits and flawless hair and makeup that's been done for her.

Instead he hides in the bathroom with a "drug dealer burner phone" and whispers to me. He knows that I want him, can't deny him. When the phone rings I run to it, because I know it's him, because I know that he's waiting on the other line. Because his voice centers me. My world revolves around his voice. It's baritone. When he uses it to address the American people, it's confident, controlled. Sometimes it's like that around me. Sometimes it's not.

I've heard his voice when he's fulfilled, when he's angry, when he's crying…when he's broken. There are different reasons that he breaks. Usually they are my fault. Sometimes they're not. When he's broken, his voice is so tightly controlled that it shakes.

I hate the sound of his broken voice, while I love the sound of his voice when he's happy. It's cautious, but other than that uncontrolled. That's how I know that he is the one who leaked my name as his mistress. When I'm in the bunker, and he's relaxed on the couch his voice is cautious, and falsely contemplative, then teasing. He is happy that it's out. A weight off of his shoulders. One of the steps in his plan that he hasn't yet shared with me.

He's manipulated the situation and we are here because of it. His face falls when I offer partial truth, a solution and his eyes are unrelenting. He knows I know, and when she finally walks out, he stands up and walks toward me, asking how I am, responding that he's not fine when I lie. His voice is inquiring. He wants to know if I forgive him.

I tell him that I'm fine, making sure to harden my voice like steel, explaining that it's not about me. It's just the story. Just the story. My eyes water. He slowly comes toward me, taking his jacket off, and the understanding look on his face, the sympathy in his eyes makes me panic a little bit, because there's no regret.

"Don't," I say with as much strength as I can muster, but he keeps coming and his crisp blue shirt that wraps around his arms looks like solace to me. I know it's warm from his body heat in the cold room and his arms are strong enough to hold me up. My knees are shaking and I'm glad my coat hides them.

"Don't," I breathe again, but he's almost here and just because he's in my proximity my breathing staggers. He takes another step toward me and my breathing staggers again, because now I'm breathing him in. His scent. He smells like expensive clothes, and cologne. But if I rest my forehead against his neck and inhale at his collar, I can really smell him. And Fitz smells like sweet honey and spicy pepper mixed all into one.

His arms feel like a steel cage wrapped around me, and while that should make me feel uncomfortable, it doesn't because it's so Fitz to make me feel protected from the world when my name and the words "whore" and "mistress" are in one sentence together as a headline. His arms and his scent are finally the things that do me in and I cry against him for just a moment because his face is in my hair and he's wrapped around me so tightly. He's so close that I don't know where he starts and I end because we fit together so well. He knows that I need this, understands that I'm not mad because if this is a step we have to climb up, then this is something we must get through together so that we can be together. And that's what we want.

I glance back at him for just a moment when I walk out of the cold room, seeing his eyes. There's no defeat. No regret.

There is an, "I love you."

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**Authors Note: Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and what you liked or disliked!**


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